fateandfortune

When they'd first met, she'd still been so new to that world at peace that it had hurt to talk about the world she'd lost. The war had haunted her every moment, waking and not, and to talk about the life she'd had so violently taken from her... Well, now it's easier in some ways, despite their present circumstances.

"Maybe because no one ever put me first," she says after a moment, watching his hands and guessing what he might be trying to achieve. She usually prefers her coffee black but this time she reaches over to pick out a pack of sugar from the little container, ripping it open and carefully dumping it into her mug. A pod of creamer follows and she stirs both in with her spoon.

"Someone should have," he answers absently, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He mimics her, taking the sugar packet and opening it - not as gracefully, human fingers are so blunted compared to his own digits - but without spilling it everywhere. It's not like he's actually going to be able to drink the end result, but at least now it doesn't look untouched.

He gives her eggs an evaluating look; just because it didn't look appetizing to him doesn't mean much. "How is your breakfast? And what else will you need from the store? There's still a lot of driving to do once we leave here."

That absent comment cuts straight to her core. To hear him say it, to hear anyone say it... It means more than she could ever say. Even if she still doubts it herself in her darkest moments, even if so many memories try to convince her of the opposite, she'll hold close the knowledge that he thinks so.

"It's good," she answers, spearing another piece of egg. With a glance back to the store, she calculates how much money she'll have left after this. "I'll refill my water and probably get a toothbrush set. Maybe a tourist t-shirt if I have enough. Next best thing to a shower and full change of clothes."

Knock Out's gaze unfixes again, looking down at his coffee cup without seeing it as his attention is shifted to his actual form in the parking lot. It lasts a few moments this time, and then just as suddenly he's back again.

"Helicopter in the area," he explained. "But it's registered to Fish & Wildlife Service. It's nothing we need to be concerned about."

And then, picking up the conversation heedless of the interruption. "There are showers here, I saw the sign when we came in. Spend what you have, I'll work on getting us some more money for the next time we stop."

She doesn't think anything of it when she sees his attention shift, but when he comes back and starts talking about a helicopter... The fear that spikes is beyond her control. Even when he assures her there's nothing to worry about, she can't help but do exactly that. What if the registration is a cover-up? What if—

No. No, she's not going down that path.

"Okay," she agrees, the word a bit flat, like the wind's been knocked out of her sails. "Thanks." Finishing her mug of coffee, she reaches over for his, both needing a second cup and not wanting anyone to notice after the fact that he hadn't actually had any himself.

Knock Out settles the holoform's hand on top of hers when she reaches for his mug. He knows how her power works, or at least the basics of it, but this construction of bent light and compiling algorithms has nothing to fear from her touch.

"Rogue," he says, calm but firm. "It's fine. I'm keeping an eye on it."

Of course he knows. She shouldn't be surprised and yet she is, a feeling that overpowers her usual automatic response to having her hand touched. So she just stares at him for a moment before nodding and lifting the mug, taking a large gulp of the too sweet nectar as the waitress arrived with their check.

Counting out enough bills to cover the check and provide a decent tip, she drinks down about the mug before sliding over to the edge of the seat. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up. I shouldn't take long, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes."

He nods, assurance that he'll be right where she leaves him. While she's getting herself attended, Knock Out makes a slow circuit of the store, resisting the urge to touch everything. So many tiny things that he's never seen up close before, and knows only from downloaded pictures and abstract references.

(He does allow himself to play with a few things. A petite wind chime, a set of scenic magnets, a bracelet made of fake seashells. For a few minutes, he can indulge and pretend everything is fine.)

He stops in front of the ATM, frowning at it, and with a quick glance around to make sure no one's looking, rests the holoform's hand on the screen. Immediately the display fritzes and jumps, but he has no way of delivering code like this. A hard line, then? Something to think about. Knock Out pulls back and the screen smooths out as if nothing had happened.

Standing in front of the large window that overlooks the parking lot, watching the steady hum and flow of traffic coming in and out, watching himself sitting in the morning sunshine, Knock Out is trying not to let his own thoughts wander. If what he suspects now to be true really is -- that this is some bizarre, abnormal exPort -- the news isn't good for Rogue or him.

And he can't fix it. The idea is enough to stutter his spark rotation for the swiftest of seconds.

But for Rogue, at least, he can hopefully mitigate the worst of it, for as long as he can. Treat the symptoms, even if he can't cure the cause. Break the problems down into manageable, solvable elements. Target what could be done, not what couldn't.

(He is a medic. This is just another kind of triage. Focus.)

He's recovered some equilibrium by the time Rogue emerges, enough to give her a smile. "Shall we?"

It's funny how thoughts can wander so completely while one is in the shower. With nothing in particular to occupy the mind, thoughts flow like the water, here and gone and on to another subject entirely. Explaining her gloves is going to be a problem but she can't go without them. What if the nanites still work and her powers are controllable here. She can't risk testing it, even when they are so close to De Chima and hopefully their answers. Does she have enough money left for a third cup of coffee to go.

The hot shower was exactly what she needed. The soap wasn't the highest quality but it got her clean, and with a quick brush of her teeth, she actually felt human again. Combing through her hair with her fingers because she'd rather spend those last dollars on another cup of coffee, she returns to Knock Out now dressed in the cheapest novelty t-shirt she'd been able to find, a plain white with I ♥ KY emblazoned in red that had been 75% off, and carrying a paper to-go cup.

"We shall," she responds with a smile of her own, her hair leaving wet spots along the back of her shirt. She probably looks like a drowned rat but she's really not the least bit concerned about it at the moment.

The sky is cloudless and the day promises to be warm as the temperature is already climbing, reflecting off the black pavement of the parking lot. Letting the holoform dissolve back into pixels once it was inside the cabin, Knock Out waits until Rogue is settled and then pulls out of the truck stop.

But rather than merge back onto the interstate, he takes a paved secondary road that runs parallel for half a mile before it turns away into farmland. Like Iowa, the landscape is beguiling with long sloping hills and endless green, and they quickly leave the signs of the main thoroughfare behind for quiet countryside. There's less corn here and far more open fields, bisected by dark fences following the natural rises of the topography. Barns dot the vista, as do dark stands of trees, and many of the fields are occupied by cattle or horses.

It doesn't take long before they're in a much more rural area, and the only vehicle around. There's no point in putting this off any longer, much as Knock Out wishes otherwise.

"Early this morning, I gained access into the satellite data network," he begins carefully. "I've spent the last few hours catching up on things. Documentation regarding mutants started appearing about fifty years ago, and has... accelerated substantially since."

He has a better idea of why Rogue is so frightened, now. There's still a lot more information to go through, but he has more of a grasp on the severity of their situation. With no traffic in either direction on this small road, he pulls over to the shoulder, two wheels resting in the gravel, engine idling quietly in park.

"I also took a more focused scan on both of us. I'm not detecting any of the Porter nanites in either of us, and our Registration tattoos are gone."

He lets that statement hang in the air, but there is no way to soften what he has to say next. "My cartographic data was updated. Rogue... De Chima isn't on the map. None of the Porter cities appear to exist at all, and I can't find any kind of reference to imPorts anywhere."

There's something comforting about being back out on the road, away from prying eyes and the dangers of being noticed on the busier roads. The open fields are beautiful in their own way, reminding her that life exists here, that this isn't the world she'd left behind. Even when Knock Out begins explaining what he'd pieced together from the data he'd accessed, she had hope that this was just some strange nonsense of the Porter.

That hope shutters as he pulls off to the side of the road, something in her cowering in fear at whatever words might come next... and then ratcheting up to full-blown terror as he finally gets to the point.

She's quiet for long moments that stretch into the quiet that surrounds them, her gloved hands resting on the wheel. One deep breath, two. Again and again, though they're not as even and measured as they should be. That fear rises, threatening to drown her, and then it kindles something else within her.

"Early this morning," she says in a low voice, repeating his earlier words. "It wouldn't take you hours to figure out the cities are gone, or our nanites. You knew when I woke up and you didn't tell me."

There's no question to the words.

"Yes," he answers evenly, despite recognizing that she had not framed it as a question. "I knew. I also knew there was no point in telling you before other needs were met. I prioritized."

"You prioritized," she repeats as if she can't comprehend what he's saying. But she can. She absolutely can. "You made a choice to keep information from me that could have impacted my actions. You let me just walk around thinking everything was fine because that's what you thought was best."

She's getting more upset by the second, as evidenced by her increasingly tight and strained tone of voice.

"Exactly which actions would it have impacted?" Knock Out retorts, his voice pitching with faint reproach. "Saying good morning? Eating real food? Cleaning yourself? Tell me which of those would have been better served with you being upset at the time."

Edited 2020-02-11 05:41 (UTC)

The fear wrapped around her heart is eclipsed by the fury at his having made decisions for her like this. He had no idea what he could have done to them.

"It doesn't matter if I'd have been upset, I would have been smart," she throws back at him, the words sharp enough to cut. "I would have watched what I said and scrubbed the room of my DNA! I wouldn't have stayed long enough for anyone to remember me because all it takes is one goddamned phone call—"

The sentence cuts off and she can't sit there anymore. It's too enclosed, too small, she can't breathe, so she grabs the door handle and pops it open in a frantic rush, practically throwing herself outside as she flings words at him that hurt even just to say.

"But it doesn't matter because they're not looking for you. You have no right to make these decisions when you DON'T KNOW."

And truthfully, he doesn't know. Knock Out is categorically arrogant, he knows that (and even embraces it ot his own benefit) but he's not omniscient. He knows he's working off incomplete data and conjecture, but he stands by his choice even as Rogue is shouting at him.

He doesn't react to the cutting accusation she hurls at him. Verbal abuse is nothing if not common among Decepticon ranks, and Knock Out had correctly anticipated she'd be upset at learning what he'd discovered. He hadn't really expected it to be over the not telling her part though.

Driver's door still hanging open, he rolls toward her a foot, then two, and stops again. "Rogue, you're close to hyperventilating. You have to breathe slower."

He says it but she can't do it. Any attempt at a slow, even breath turns into something horrible and shuddering, her body shaking so much that she ends up on her knees in the grass, gloved fingers grasping at the green strands like they could anchor her there in safety.

"I can't do this," she says between the quick, gasping breaths, not even really talking to him anymore. "I can't, not again."

The car door snaps shut and then Knock Out is expanding, unfolding from the shape of the sports car to height again before crouching down next to her, distress at her state evident on his face plates. Clawed digits rest on her back as she crouches in the grass and then begin stroking downward over the thin material of her new shirt.

"Deep breaths," he says, and the words are accompanied by a minute vibration in the air and through his touch, a calming thrum that's reminiscent of the way his engine soothed her while she drifted to sleep.

"Just focus on my voice. I know it feels like you can't get air, but you can. One deep breath, let's try that... there you go..."

She hardly notices when he transforms, the sounds familiar in a way allows them to fall outside her immediate attention, which is completely on the desperation and panic welling up within her. And then he's there, the touch on her back making her flinch ever so slightly before she tries to focus on it and his voice. That thrumming helps too, though she doesn't truly realize it's happening, the vibration simply sinking into her and working its calming magic.

As she follows his instructions, one deep breath and then another, slow and steady, her body relaxes inch by inch, muscles loosening as tension drains away. She wants to cry, to scream and hit something, but she doesn't. That won't change anything. This is her life now, right back where she'd been before, regardless of how fucking unfair it is that she has to remember what's coming. That hadn't been part of the deal. And neither had his being there with her. Feeling wrung out and drained, Rogue turns to look at Knock Out—

And panics all over again.

"Change back!" she commands immediately, struggling to stand on shaky legs and looking around frantically. "Now, before someone sees you!"

Knock Out's optics cycle once, their mechanical rings nictitating as he studies her trying to get to her feet. He removes his hand from her, and the vibration tapers off, leaving the air feeling more still than it should have.

For a moment he seems like he's about to say something... but then he rocks back on his heel tires and stands, retreating a step to gain clearance, and folds down into his alt mode without a word.

Once he's settled into his other form, it's like her strings have been cut. She wobbles her way over to him and sinks down to her knees before him, hands resting on the smooth red metal.

"I'm sorry, sugar." It's a quiet apology but no less genuine than her earlier anger had been. "I just... People out here've probably never seen a Sentinel before. If they thought you were some kind of new model, it'd end up all over the news and—"

Her voice falters and her hands press a little harder against him. "It's safer for you if they don't know what you are."

Knock Out's EM field instinctively pulses out the glyphs for safety/acknowledgement/forgiveness, even though he knows humans can't detect it, and settles instead for the gentle rumble of twelve cylinders beneath her hands.

"No need for apologies," he replies carefully. "As you said, I don't know. I'll have to learn."

She loves the rumble that gently flows beneath her hands, a sign of the life within him that she still just barely understands. Understanding isn't required to appreciate though, and she is so very glad that he's alive and safe. For now.

"You shouldn't have to," she tells him tiredly. "You shouldn't be here. You don't deserve this."

"It's not about deserving," he refutes, and his tone suggests a frown even without a visible face. "You don't belong here either, whether this is your world or not. Not with things like... this. All of it."

He pauses, because that's a train of thought he's not keen to navigate right now. "I know it seems less likely now, but... there is still a chance that this is a Porter mishap. We know its glitches can last a week or more, based on past incidents."

It's a thin possibility, and they both know it. But Knock Out offers it with practicality, not unkindness. They won't pin their hopes on it, but neither should they completely dismiss it just yet.

Time enough for that later.

"So we can try to wait it out. See if there's any other way to confirm what's going on. I have the GPS coordinates for where De Chima's supposed to be, if you want to go anyway and be sure."

He's letting her choose, heedful of their barely-cooled argument where he'd removed that option from her. Not an apology, perhaps, but acknowledgement.

It's more than most people have given her in her life. She doesn't need an apology when his actions speak louder than the words possibly could. One can offer apologies and cite changed ways that are actually set in stone.

"We've come all this way already," she begins after a moment of consideration. "If you're okay with going, we might as well. Because... honestly, I don't have any other ideas."

If this isn't the Porter, if they're stuck here in this twisted version of the world, she doesn't know what to do. The mutants here won't know her, she has no human friends to rely on, and she can't even begin to guess at how they might get back to the world they'd shared. It's scary to admit but she isn't going to put on false bravado with him.

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